Earlier, mere moments before Nyx brought an end to the nobleman and the two servants' lives—
The instant Jack slipped away from the main hall, he did not linger. He passed the tray of crystal goblets and red wine to a maid he encountered by chance. She stared at him in mild bewilderment as he released the burden into her hands, and by the time she found her voice, he had already moved on.
With discretion, Jack began trailing Declan and Nowa as they advanced toward a concealed chamber situated just beyond Sir Bernard's office.
Upon regaining sight of the detectives, he tempered his stride, careful not to draw notice. His movements were almost casual, as though he were no more than another guest wandering the corridors.
Providence favored him.
Just outside Sil Bernard's office stood a vast linen bin, brimming with freshly laundered garments. Without hesitation, Jack slipped behind it as the detectives disappeared into the office ahead. The heap of folded cloth provided ample concealment, a perfect refuge from prying eyes, and an ideal vantage from which to wait.
What are you doing in there? No, what are they trying to conceal?
He slightly shifted his gaze toward the heap of garments spilling from the linen bin.
Is this laundry? But what is it doing all the way over here, next to Sil Bernard's office? Unless these belong to him.
As he studied the clothing more closely, a notion stirred.
"...Oh, these look like they are just about my size," he murmured.
Still concealed from view, he resolved to address another concern. The clinging scent of wine was far from subtle, and to wander the halls steeped in it would invite unwanted scrutiny. With careful, soundless movements, he rummaged through the bin, selected a suitable change, and swiftly altered his attire.
When he finished, Jack inspected himself, brushing away the last faint traces of wine from his cheek.
How utterly absurd... He thought. I can barely fit into this shirt. Perhaps it belongs to one of Bernard's sons? I highly doubt it's Sil Bernard himself.
He frowned slightly.
…Wait. Does he even have children?
The thought lingered as Jack straightened his posture and turned his attention back to the corridor ahead.
He now wore a plain white shirt, hanging a touch loose upon his frame, larger than his usual preference, yet, more importantly, closely resembling the one he had just removed.
As Jack approached the closed door, the murmur of voices reached his ears. Yet the cadence and timbre of their speech bore little resemblance to that of the detectives, prompting him to hesitate rather than charge in unannounced, choosing instead to discern who else occupied the chamber.
"Damn it… who in their right mind would be in there?" he muttered, his hand lingering just shy of the doorknob.
"Tsk…" His eyes drifted to the walls as his thoughts quickened.
What course ought I take now? Should I enter in my present state, my ruse would be undone at once. He doubted they anticipated any additional company; at present, all appeared otherwise occupied. And yet… he exhaled quietly, should I linger here overlong, Sil Bernard may chance upon me in this attire, an inconvenience I would rather not invite.
He turned, facing the far end of the corridor, weighing his options.
Then, without warning, the muffled conversation behind the sealed door reached his ears again, clearer this time,
"These are all the crates we have brought as gifts, as well as those intended for the lovely lady with whom Sil Bernard was conversing earlier. We have also included an additional four, precisely as you specified in your letter."
The man spoke with an easy assurance; his voice was steady and mature—judging by the tone alone, he sounded to be somewhere in his early thirties.
"You've got everything right?" inquired another, his voice calm and mature. Then silence fell for a brief moment.
What in the world could they be discussing? Jack could not help but wonder to whom the additional voices belonged.
"But, what is your intent with these boxes, Sir Declan?" the first voice questioned again, muffled behind the door. "Does it pertain to the recent scourge, the serial murderer currently at large within the city?"
"More or less…" Declan replied, pausing momentarily before resuming, his tone firm yet controlled. "You need not concern yourself further. Henceforth, Nowa and I shall see to everything ourselves."
A brief pause settled over the room before Declan spoke once more.
"And before I forget... Did you find anything significant in the apple juice?"
The man cleared his throat. "Indeed, yet we could not arrive at a definitive conclusion concerning the substance employed as the principal component of the key drug. However, upon relaying the particulars to Doctor Phillip, he suggested it might be an expired aphrodisiac, combined with toxins extracted from dried river fish."
A note of uncertainty lingered in his voice, as though even he harboured doubts regarding the explanation.
"Is that so?" Declan remarked.
"An aphrodisiac?" Nowa's voice followed. "Isn't that some sort of stimulant?"
"Yes," the man replied, "though in this instance, it appears to have been an expired specimen."
"What difference does it make?" Nowa asked, confusion clear in his voice.
"You inquire of the wrong person," the man said with a faint scoff. "I have never handled such matters myself. Truth be told, I have never encountered any manner of such stimulants. Should you seek precise particulars, you must consult the professionals accustomed to dealing with these substances."
"And you call yourself a scientist," Declan interjected dryly.
"Well, I might be a scientist, but I'm no genius," the man replied.
A ripple of laughter passed through the room, brief and unguarded, before dissolving into silence once more.
"Nonetheless," the man continued, returning to a measured, businesslike tone, "proceed and verify that all requisite materials are in readiness."
Behind the door, Jack stood momentarily dazed, bewildered by the turn of events. Soon, faint footsteps echoed from the distant end of the corridor, drawing ever closer.
Oh no... this should be trouble.
A surge of panic rose within him as his eyes flicked along the walls, searching desperately for an escape. From within the room, the faint rustle of boxes being opened drifted into the corridor, heightening his unease.
At last, his gaze alighted upon a narrow aperture through which he might slip. Yet the path presented its own peril: it led directly back into the chamber occupied by the detectives and the others—and, to make matters worse, the passage was so constricted that only one of slender frame could pass unimpeded.
***
A few minutes hence, two maids proceeded down the corridor, bearing laundry as they made their way toward the mansion's lower floors.
Jack now found himself within the room, where Declan and Nowa were examining two small boxes placed side by side upon a polished wooden desk.
Within the box to the left lay two pristine revolvers, their cartridges arranged with meticulous order just beneath them. The box to the right was brimful with cigarettes, spilling slightly over the edges.
Ba-dump... Ba-dump... Ba-dump...
Jack had scarcely completed the route, his heart thrumming violently within his chest. Fortunately, no one within the room had taken note of his presence. At present, he was atop a bookshelf, pressed deep into the shadows, the darkness affording him a slender measure of safety.
"This comprises all that Miss Emily entrusted to us… and, ah, this letter as well," a bearded man remarked. By the timbre and cadence of his voice alone, it was evident that he was the same scientist who had previously declared, "He is no genius."
He carefully pulled out the letter and handed it to Declan. "She asked that I deliver this to you personally. From the manner in which she entrusted it to me, she appeared… somewhat troubled. Then again, perhaps I am reading far too much into her demeanor," he added, a faint crease forming upon his brow.
"Thanks..." Declan replied in a calm, measured voice, slipping the letter carefully into his trouser pocket to read later.
Nowa's eyes flickered toward him, the name Emily drawing his curiosity. For a brief instant, he could not help but ponder—was she the daughter of Sir Declan… or perchance his wife?
Clearing his throat, Declan inquired, "Did she impart aught further?"
"...Well, no," the scientist admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Very well, then," Declan said with a shrug. "Go ahead and open the remaining boxes."
"Certainly, sir," replied another gentleman, the extra presence in the room who had spoken previously, his tone respectful yet alert, as though bracing himself for whatever might lie within.
Yet, just as he reached to lift the lid of one box—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A knock upon the door interrupted them, causing all within the chamber to swivel toward the sound.
"Who might that be?" Nowa murmured under her breath.
Declan and the others exchanged swift, uncertain glances, subtly shrugging to indicate ignorance. From his perch atop the shelves, Jack likewise directed his gaze toward the door, curiosity piqued.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Declan advanced and opened the door. There, standing in the threshold, was Melissa, her striking green eyes framed by rounded spectacles.
"Yes?" Declan inquired, his voice calm yet vigilant, as he regarded the maid before him.
"I am seeking one who answers to the name of Declan," the maid replied, her gaze sweeping past him… only to alight squarely upon Jack, perched precariously atop the shelf.
Melissa? What's she doing here? Oh no… is she looking at me? Jack thought, his blue eyes locking with her piercing green ones, a mix of surprise and unease stirring in him.
"Oh, that would be me… Did you need something?" Declan asked, his voice calm but attentive.
"Yes," Melissa replied, finally tearing her gaze away from Jack and focusing on Declan. "The master requests your presence."
"I'll be right there in a second," Declan replied, closing the door behind her before returning his attention to the others.
"Alright… we should get moving," he added, glancing at the boxes. "And bring these with us. It might be prudent to open them while the master of the mansion is present."
A few minutes later, Declan and the others finally left the room, the boxes in tow, and locked the door behind them. They never once realized that someone remained hidden in the shadows, silently observing everything they had done.
***
A few minutes later, Jack endeavoured to make his escape from the chamber—only to find himself thwarted. The route he had taken hitherto was no longer practicable; to attempt it now would send the bookshelf crashing to the floor, betraying his presence to anyone within earshot.
He sank into a chair, pressing his fingers to his temples as he considered his next course of action. Yet before frustration could fully settle upon him, the door clicked open. Melissa entered, her countenance composed and seemingly indifferent.
"What, may I inquire, is your business in this room?" Melissa asked, her green eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she advanced a step closer.